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The View from the Back of the Bus
by Rusty C Arquette
The Trailways bus
wound its way
from New Orleans
along the Gulf Coast
through Gulfport,
Biloxi, Mobile...
the blue waters of the gulf
slipping past the window
in the distance...
down to Pensacola,
Destin, and Panama City...
rolling on through
woodlands and small
plots of farmed land...
on to Port St. Joe
and Apalachicola
snaking it's way south
down a two lane
highway through a long
hot and humid
summer afternoon...
the moss draped oaks
and the thickets
of palmettos
barely moved
in the breeze...
people on the bus
sat sweating...
a sea of church fans
and newspapers waved
away the heat...
the windows were down...
no air conditioning...
at 55 mph the air
hardly moved...
a couple guys in
army uniforms sat
near the back...
passing a pint
of Jack Daniels...
a couple beat up fellows
in old tee shirts
and ball caps
short on teeth...
snored in tandem...
and slept the whole way...
a mousy white girl
in her late 20's
looking more like 40...
struggled to keep her 3 kids
in their seats and quiet...
using crackers, candy bars,
and fruit juice...
a losing battle...
I sat next to a
jumbo sized black woman
who overflowed her seat...
large sagging breasts
and doughy arms...
dressed in a floral print
summer dress
and fuzzy purple slippers...
she was covered in sweat...
an her body odor
made my eyes water...
the door
to the restroom
at the back of the bus
wouldnt latch...
it would swing open
and slam shut with each
turn the bus made...
the smell of human waste
and chemicals
hung heavy
in the humid bus air...
it made me feel sick...
I tried to put it out
of my mind...
it wasnt easy...
I passed the time watching
the landscape rush
by my window...
noting the drive-ins...
roadside produce stands...
and giant junkyards
full of rusting cars...
past untended graveyards...
primitive little
wood frame churches
and the occasional
tent meeting...
billboards flipped by...
one after another...
becoming a visual
distraction...
'See Rock City'...
painted in giant letters...
black and white letters
on the rusted roofs
of weathered buildings
abandoned and leaning
into an unseen wind...
covered in kudzu
and trumpet vine...
mile after mile we rode...
stopping for people
on the roadside...
at gas stations
and little grocery stores
in the middle of nowhere...
at one corner...
a gas station
with nothing around it
for miles...
the bus driver stopped...
he gave us all 15 minutes
to stretch our legs,
buy a cold RC Cola,
and use the facilities...
I think the owner
of this greasy pit
was his cousin...
so you can bet he was
getting a kickback
from whatever the
passengers bought...
I didn't have any cash
so I went in search
of some cold water
and a clean bathroom...
I found neither...
the bathrooms were
like the black hole of Calcutta...
and the water was
warm and sulfurous...
I had to take a whiz, bad...
I thought of using the woods...
there were plenty of trees
I could mark,
I pictured the bus leaving
me peeing on a tree in the
middle of nowhere
as I hurried to do my
business...
around back
I found another set
of bathrooms
and a water fountain
I stopped to drink from
the fountain in the shade
the water was cool and sweet
I stood up, wiping my mouth
with my hand
my fellow traveler,
the big black woman,
came waddling
out of the bathroom
she was staring at me
like I was some crazy June Bug
I wasnt sure why
I used the bathroom
she had vacated
it was much cleaner
than the one around
the front
I returned to the bus
got into my seat
and prepared for the
next leg of the trip
the bus driver sat down
fired up the diesel engine
and in a couple minutes
we were off lumbering
down the highway again
I looked out the window
noticing the woman next
to me was staring at me
sort of wide eyed
and wondering
she spoke, asking,
tell me somethin?
I nodded, okay
does you read?
she questioned
yes mam, I sure do
how ol is you?
she continued
Im eleven
I replied
she paused a moment,
staring at me
trying to figure out
just what I was
did yall see dem signs
back dere at da
fillin station? she drawled
signs? I asked, puzzled
da one on the fountain said
sumpin
it said colored
ya know what dat mean,
don ya son?
she asked quietly
oh
,
I didnt really notice
I replied sheepishly
yo lucky none a dem
crackahs seen ya drinkin
from dat fountain
lord they woulda raised
some white hell!
she chuckled
shook her head
and returned to watching
the world go by the window
I had seen the sign
I had seen the one
out front too,
on the other water fountain
white
as well as the white only
on the bathroom
the one hidden around back
had been colored only
but it didnt register
Id never seen this obvious
labeling before
so I didnt catch it
it was 1961
Id seen these signs on TV
Id heard about them in the news
I was aware that
this sort of stuff went on
in the south, but not the south
Id been raised in
the Florida coastline
was a collection of transplants
that watered down the
traditional southern mentality
of the southwest Florida
of the 50s and early 60s
these signs
these relics of a dying era
brought it all into focus
I hadnt been exposed
to the full implications
of the racist south
but here it was
and I hadnt even given
it a second thought
I dont know what that said
whether its good or bad
at eleven I didnt
think about it
now I realize
it was like seeing ghosts
or apparitions come back
to haunt us all
I suppose the signs
are gone now
but the message behind them
like those hazy phantoms
will be haunting me
haunting all of us
for a long, long time
05/20/2005 Author's Note: The signs may have disappeared, but there are still those dim individuals who see them whether they are there or not; pity.
Posted on 10/26/2006
Copyright © 2024 Rusty C Arquette
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 10/26/06 at 06:14 PM Your poem made me relive a time in my past Rusty. I
went to a naval school in Gulfport. Great tale and
so true.....Charlie |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 10/26/06 at 11:48 PM You've put another excellent anecdote in poetry form for the history of the ol' South. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 10/27/06 at 04:26 PM You really captured the Greyhound bus trip to a "tee". I did not grow up in the south, so the story of the signs always makes my blood run cold, even now. Thanks for the reminder. |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 10/27/06 at 07:27 PM Just excellent, Rusty! Of course, at the heart of racism is the religious assertion that God made a creative mistake when He brought some people into being. We can be such fooling little humans! Thanks. |
| Posted by David R Spellman on 10/29/06 at 02:11 PM What an excellent trip you have re-created for us here filled with wonderful observations and characters. Quite the message also... a sad part of our history and, yes, also sad that the ignorance still lingers. |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 10/29/06 at 11:22 PM This can only deserve a hearty AMEN... for the descriptions, layers and lesson...
...and the Greyhound Bus trails of yesteryear. It's on my favourites. |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 10/30/06 at 06:20 PM I went to UNC- I gave up my seat to a very pregnant blck girl and all h*ll broke loose. I was told not to do this again...that "they know their place" Wonderfully written- great read! |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 11/04/06 at 07:50 PM In East Texas there's a museum featuring (can you believe it?) these signs. There's an old water fountain featured that specified for "whites only" in the [daze]
You are impeccable with capturing feelings, thoughts, scents... (Tears all in my lap now.) Fave. Hugs, R*cat. |
| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 07/01/08 at 04:09 PM wow! this caught me off guard.
i think it's broken into two halves. i love the feeling i get when the woman is talking to the speaker - i had no idea he was 11 or that it was 1961. i think you should go with that revelation. maybe split the poem into two? i don't know. i just was so blown away, and i see how the second half is important, too. but i feel like it takes away from the 'aHA!' moment..
great poem, either way. |
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